Jude
by YumKiwiDelicious
Summary: While taking on the identity of a young Jewish girl in 1942 Europe seemed insane, I reasoned that there had been no Nazi occupation in England during the entirety of World War II. As long as I made no attempts to travel through Germany or its surrounding countries, everything would be fine.
1. Prologue

December 13, 1996

I sat still and quiet as if a single noise would send Death Eaters pounding up the staircase to seize me forcibly from the room. I felt strangely disconnected from the situation. As if it weren't really me, Hermione Jean Granger, sitting in that seat staring searchingly at my beloved headmaster, but someone else entirely. Someone whose eyes weren't fixed on that cursed hand, wondering how I could still dare to call myself clever when I hadn't noticed the mighty Albus Dumbledore growing frail and weak over the last few months. I felt entitled to answer to the title of the brightest witch of my age, yet I had never guessed that Snape was our ally after all this time. A plethora of information had just been bestowed upon me and all I could focus on was how stupid I had been. I wasn't clever at all, I was a fool. I was such a fool.

"Are you quite alright, Miss Granger?"

As usual, Dumbledore's steady voice brought me out of my own self-depreciating musings and I met his twinkling eyes. Seeing him looking back at me over those half-mooned spectacles, so calm and collected even after all he had told me, my eyes suddenly pricked with tears and like that I was back to my body, coming alive as a slouched downward in my seat.

"Professor," I half sobbed, putting a hand to my face in hopes of hiding my despair and shame. Dumbledore rose from his chair with the grace of a man half his age, and came to me then. When he rested his hand on my shoulder, my crying only increased, and I hunched forward in my seat, head in my hands.

"There is no shame in sadness, Ms. Granger," he said sagely. I peeked through my hands, stunned and touched to see him looking down on me with distinct fondness, a half smile pulling at the deep lines of his face. I nodded, attempting to compose myself then as I sat up and touched his hand lightly, signaling the end of my break-down.

"I'm sorry," I sniffed, wiping embarrassedly at my eyes. I had no reason to be crying; I wasn't the one dying after all. I would miss my head master terribly of course, and I couldn't even imagine how unbearable Harry would become, but at the end of the day my tears would not stop the curse, and I could not always fall to pieces every time we lost someone. Merlin knew it had happened enough, and would continue to happen. With one final sniff and a shake of my head, I refocused on Dumbledore who had now moved back to his seat, lowering himself into it gingerly.

"There's no need to apologize," he assured, folding his aged hands in front of him, "I realize what I have just told you must come as quite a shock. I also realize that it unfair of me to ask this much of you."

I moved as if to protest, but after another twinkling look I knew my argument was dead in the water. It honestly was unfair, but I refused to believe mine was the worst lot in life. It was unfair that Harry had to lose his parents in infancy and then grow up to fight off their killer. It was unfair that Remus Lupin had to be discriminated against simply because of an unfortunate event that would now dictate the rest of his life. It was unfair Sirius Black had to be taken from the life he had fought so long for after only just earning it back. It was unfair Severus Snape had to be made into the bad guy. It was unfair Dumbledore had to die. After nearly six whole years of watching these tragedies and others play out, I was a firm believe that life was unfair

With a simple nod as if to confirm his last statement, I again wiped away access moisture from my face and cleared my throat. "I can't tell Harry or Ron."

"I'm afraid not," he intoned, "Your Mr. Weasley, brave and loyal though he is, is not the most subtle student I have ever taught."

I chuckled. Not at his harmless jibe at Ron, but at the fact he had called the youngest Weasley son _mine_. What a silly thought. Ron was no more mine than Lilly Evans had been Snape's. Ron was so completely absorbed in Lavender Brown as of late, it was a wonder he even realized I still existed.

"And Harry?" I pressed on, refusing to fall into another weeping fit over my love life at a time like this.

Dumbledore smiled the smile anyone with eyes knew was reserved only for Harry. It was a smile of complete love and devotion. A smile parents gave their children when they were being particularly cheeky or smart. It was a smile that let me know it must have broken Dumbledore's heart to deceive Harry the way he had for all these years; raising him like a pig for slaughter. That smile and the boy behind it was enough to make Dumbledore go back on nearly everything he had ever told me and sit me down to asked too much of me. It was a smile I knew I could trust.

"Harry Potter is a great wizard," he said proudly, his voice deep and honest, "As well as a great man. However, he can sometimes let his emotions rule his head, and I feel a mission such as this would strike him to near the heart for him to carry it out efficiently."

I agreed with the ancient man entirely, remembering the numerous times Harry had thrown himself scar first into danger because his heart had been in it. Harry was Gryffindor through and through with an unshakable nerve and almost worrisome bravery backing his every move. He was my dearest friend, and I loved his best, but I knew this mission would be no good for him. Plus someone had to stay behind and destroy the Horcruxes just in case I failed.

A cold wave of fear crashed over me as I thought of that. What if I failed? Not only would history be changed, possibly for the worst, but I would never see this life again. For my friends it would be as if I had never existed to begin with, which was a painful enough thought to bare, but for my parents I would just suddenly disappear. Never to be seen or heard from again, and with no one I had spent the last six year gushing about even able to confirm I had been here to begin with. As all these thoughts occurred to me, I suddenly felt nauseous and focused very hard on my knees, sweat beading on my forehead.

"You have every right and reason to refuse this request, Miss Granger," Dumbledore offered suddenly, having never needed Legilimency to read anyone's thoughts. I glanced up at him.

"But then you'll die," I whispered, nearly to myself. He nodded. "And…Harry's parents will die, and Sirius will die and all these people will just _die_." He nodded.

He wasn't trying to convince me to go I knew, but I couldn't help but notice he did not offer up his usual claims of death being a natural part of life; the next great adventure on a never ending journey. I suppose even if he had, my mind would not have been changed. I looked up at the wall of his office, covered with the portraits of the fantastic head masters and mistresses that came before him. All great witches and wizards that time would remember and honor. I would never be up there. This task would be the end of my life as Hermione Granger and I would forever and always cease to be the brightest witch of this age. Time would not remember me. Dumbledore would not even remember me if things went according to plan. At least not as the girl he had known for the last six years. I would disappear.

"I have to do this."

"No, Miss Granger-"

"I_ want_ to do this," I restated, straightening my back as I met his eyes again. I was no Harry Potter, but I was brave and I _was_ clever. I knew this sacrifice would mean more to the world than I ever could. Doing this would mean a better life for my friends and all the people, like me, that had been treated as second-class wizards and witches just because of their heritage. I could change all that and I would change all that. "You can count on me, professor."

The smile he sent me was fit for Harry potter. "Excellent," he enthused, rising from his seat again. I followed quickly, hovering near him as he supported himself on the desk, the curse in his hand taking a dreadful toll every few moments. He stood fast though, still managing to gaze down at me in good humor as he spoke. "Now, I doubt I need to elaborate how extremely delicate this plan is to you, young Granger."

"No, sir," I assured him.

"Tom Riddle is and was a terribly powerful wizard. It would not be in your best interest to get on his bad side." He spoke while moving towards one of his book shelves, his blackening hand whispering over the spines as if the tombs were hot to the touch. "You cannot expect to win this war with fighting. For as talented as you are, you would be no match for him."

It never even crossed my mind to be offended. I knew what he was saying was completely true; I had books and cleverness on my side, but if it came down to a duel, I could not best Lord Voldemort and his expansive knowledge of dark magic which I refused to use. Instead I began to think of all the subtle ways I could finish this. Perhaps a gradual poisoning, or a terrible accident involving the giant squid. I had not settled on which idea I preferred yet, and was unable to before Dumbledore finally plucked one of the books off the shelf, a satisfied hum leaving his lips.

"Will I have time to say goodbye to Ron and Harry?" I asked, palms beginning to sweat as everything became more real. I was really doing this. I was really traveling back to 1942 to confront Tom Riddle.

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore mused, focused entirely on a spell he was reading through, his mouth moving over the words silently as if in prayer. I breathing hitched and I turned my back on him, not wanting him to witness me crying for the second time in as many hours.

I steadied myself, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched. I knew I was doing the right thing, and I would not go back on my declaration now, but knowing I would never see Ron or Harry again was a thought almost too painful to withstand. Harry who was like my own bright eyed, wild haired brother and who I cared so deeply for. Ron who I was very possibly falling in love with and who I would never be able to tell how I felt. I'd never see them, or Ginny, or Luna, or Merlin's sake my _parents _ever again. Suddenly I was not so sure of myself. Suddenly I didn't know if I could go through with this without a hug from my mother first.

I sucked in a ragged breath, and heard Dumbledore turn towards me. I kept my back rigid, shoulders tight as he approached me. His healthy hand fell with a bone crushing weight onto my shoulder and I imagined it was the world.

"There is no shame in sadness," he repeated, turning me ever so slightly so that he may look upon my tear streaked face. "But I want you to know something, Hermione." My eyes fell open, red and sore from fighting the tears for so long. "You are not Hermione Granger because of your family, or your friends." I blinked. "You are Hermione Granger because you were born such."

Thinking back on it now, I did not truly understand what he meant, but his words gave me courage and I nodded at him, brushing tears off my cheek for the last time that day. He grinned at me, as if we had been discussing some small joke between the two of us and ushered me forward, to the center of the room.

"Now, Miss Granger," he began, turning momentarily to grab something off the top of his deliberately cluttered desk "You will be returning to 1943 during Hogwarts' holiday vacation and so will not be attending school when you arrive." Something in my heart fell as my last comfort, academia, was stripped away. "You will be posing as an orphan, moving in to Wool's Orphanage where Tom Riddle will still be residing at the time."

He handed me the item he had grabbed and I saw it was a small leather booklet not unlike the ones my parents used to hold their passports. Flipping it open, I saw an aged picture of myself that looked like it had been carefully preserve for the last fifty-some odd years. It was on the left hand side of an identification sheet, stating my name and birth date plainly though in a handwriting not my own. My new surname was to be Neumen and I had been born in 1926, making me the same age as Lord Voldemort himself. The whole document was breathtakingly authentic, and I wondered how Dumbledore had even managed to find such a simple photograph of me, but what really caught my attention was the emblazoned yellow star behind all the swirly writing.

Glancing up at Dumbledore, I saw that he did not find it necessary to comment on it as he continued to study his tomb. Flipping the wallet closed, I did my best to reason with myself. While taking on the identity of a young Jewish girl in 1942 Europe seemed insane, I reasoned that there had been no Nazi occupation in England during the entirety of World War II. Plus saying my parents had been captured by the SS was a great excuse as to why I would be appearing parentless seemingly out of nowhere. As long as I made no attempts to travel through Germany and its surrounding countries, I would be perfectly fine.

"Right, well, I do believe I've got it," Dumbledore suddenly announced, shutting the book with a resounding 'fwump!' that set my palms to sweating once more. This was it. I patted my robe pockets, assuring the presence of my wand and beaded bag. "Are you ready, Miss Granger?"

I thought long and hard on that question, knowing he was not simply asking about the spell. I had to be ready to give up everything I had ever known for a shot at fixing it. I had to be ready to give up my friends and family in order to save them. I had to be ready to say goodbye to the person I had become to take on this entirely new person that would be changing history.

I took the briefest of moments to recall every single time I had made my dad laugh, or sung a song with my mum. I flashed back to meeting Harry and Ron on the Hogwarts express and waking up from being petrified and punching Draco Malfoy in the face and dancing with Victor Krum and so many other things that from this moment on would only exist in my memories. I had to be ready to accept that.

I had to be ready and in that moment I was.

"Yes, sir."


	2. Chapter 1

December 14, 1942

The spell had not been what I was expecting though I'm not entirely sure what that was. I suppose somewhere in the recesses of my mind I'd assumed a blinding white light would shoot from the tip of Dumbledore's wand. Perhaps I thought I'd be engulfed into the dark of unconsciousness and wake up in 1942. Instead it was as if I was using a time turned and watching the last 54 years fly by me while remaining immovably glued to the one spot in the center of Dumbledore's office.

It was strange watching time fly backwards the way it had. Everything was moving very fast; faster than with a time turner but I still caught glimpses of moments from my own lifetime and tried to keep them in my mind as more people and time flew by. I saw Snape conjure his Patronus and send it prancing off into the night, a true beacon of his love for Lily Evans. I saw Harry come in and out of the office more times than I could count, each time getting younger and younger until he was only eleven. I saw head master Dippet talking to teachers and students from decades passed.

I saw them all, but none of them saw me and when time finally stopped again, I realized I had traveled back 54 years in all of two minutes. I stood alone and flabbergasted at what had just occurred, wondering where in the world such a spell had been created and why no one ever spoke of it. As I stumbled out of my original spot, suddenly free from the vice like hold of time travel, I let my eyes soak in the old office, not half so cluttered as what it had been just moments ago.

Everything about the place that had been distinctly Dumbledore was gone, from the bowl of lemon drops on the corner of the desk, to the vast bookshelf that had once stood to my right. I groaned internally at that, a part of me having been hoping I could locate the book he'd pulled the spell from and somehow get home after all this mess. That hope was gone now though and I was left with the same twisting gut feeling I'd had just before leaving.

I was here forever. I'd never even meet Harry and Ron in this new timeline; I'd be long into my fifties before they were even born. And my parents; I'd never get to see them again.

The room was thankfully empty (part of me supplied that Hogwarts was on break like Dumbledore had said), so I felt at liberty to throw myself into the guest chair which hadn't moved an inch in all this time. I reveled in the familiarity of its cushion, less sat in now, but still perfectly ancient. I gripped the arm rests and tried to think.

No one was here. No one would be here for at least a month. Plan aside, I could just stay in the hollowed school. Shack up in my old dorm, now belonging to someone else, and wait to meet Dippet and enroll as a student in January. It would be simple enough to get close to Riddle while sharing lessons with him. Maybe I could even convince the sorting hat to place me into his house; Harry himself always said it had taken his choice into consideration so why not mine?

Even as I sat there and imagined the convenient luxury of finishing out my sixth year while simultaneously ridding the world of Lord Voldemort, I knew the plan was no good. Not only was it not what Dumbledore had asked me to do, but it pushed the limits of what I was trying to avoid. In the second half of his sixth year, Tom Riddle had opened the Chamber of Secrets and killed Moaning Myrtle thus creating his first Horcrux. I couldn't allow that to happen.

Dumbledore had told me all about the Horcruxes. How they were nearly impossible to destroy and how finding them was a deadly mission that even he could not escape unscathed. Once he died there would be no one capable of helping Harry get rid of the pieces of Voldemort's soul and that was assuming he'd even be able to find them. No, I had come back to kill the infestation at its source. As long as I breathed in the 1940s, Tom Riddle would not create a single Horcrux. His soul would remain intact if it killed me.

Spotting a calendar hung behind Dippet's desk I took note of the date. Myrtle had died June 13, 1943. Meaning I had a little less than six months to thwart Tom Riddle's decent into complete evil. No pressure.

With a huff, I moved to stand, swaying slightly as the effect of standing for 54 years really hit me. I was exhausted. Just the thought of having to travel all the way to Muggle London made me groan, but as I started towards the door I steeled myself. The next six months would no doubt be very tiring indeed, but I had to be prepared to fight through it or all will have been for nothing.

* * *

'Pop!'

With my body feeling like dead weight as I apparated one last time, I stumbled into the brick wall opposite me, throwing all my weight against it as I fought to stay on my feet. I had had to walk off the castle's property before I was even physically able to apparate, and as I'd appeared outside King's Cross Station, I'd realized I had no idea where Wool's Orphanage was, let alone how to get there besides apparating mile after mile, unable to go any further without splinching myself.

It wasn't healthy to use so much magic in such rapid succession, and as I slid down to the filthy ground beneath me, hands caked with dirt from my various bad landings, and clothes tattered, I wondered how Tom Riddle had managed to make it back and forth between Hogwarts and his muggle residence multiple times a year. It was killing me. It did not help at all that it had begun to rain three stops ago and by this point I was soaked to the bone, teeth chattering and hair dripping icicles as I traveled aimlessly around London, England in mid-December.

With a shuttering breath, I stood once more and tried to get my bearings. In the 90s Wool's Orphanage had long been closed and so I had no idea of even beginning to guess where it might be. Currently I was in an alley, trash and filth sopping around my wet Mary-Janes. I cursed myself internally for not changing into more suitable clothes before setting out. My school robes made me look like an eccentric beggar in this setting, and I would need to rid myself of the Gryffindor colors sometime before I ran into Riddle.

Once I realized I could see nothing useful from this vantage point, I set out towards the main street, blinking rapidly to keep rain drops from falling into my eyes. I had to squint to see the names of buildings, having no one to clarify I was even going in the right direction since the rain had chased them all inside. It was so bleak and dark in this time that I wondered if it was just the standard for 1940s Europe. I would not have been surprised.

I sneezed once as I took in the street I had landed on. There were little shops and diners all along it, windows shut up against the weather, every building looking as sad and desolate as the last. Shaking my wet mane out of my face in irritation, I leaned against the wall again, feeling hopelessness begin to seep into my bones along with the cold. It felt like hours had already gone by and I honestly just wanted a place to rest.

With another bone clattering shudder, I resigned myself to finding the orphanage the next day. Pushing away from my brick crutch, I stepped onto the side walk, ready to set out and find a hotel or B&B to stay in for the night. I had just enough muggle money in my bag that I thought I could swing that at least. I could regroup and set out again tomorrow when the sun was shining, _if _the sun was shining. As I turned to walk to my right, hand running along the continuous wall that had supported me, I tried my best to leave my mind blank. It would not do to be swept up in heart ache now thinking of everything I had just lost with the flick of a wand. I kept reminding myself that I had a chance to change the world as long as I kept focused and didn't go to pieces.

I glanced over as the solid stone suddenly disappeared, replaced by a cast-iron fence that bruised my knuckles as I wrapped against it. Staring up nearly in to the rain, I could have cried at the sight that greeted me. There, behind the high walls and iron fence was a large square building, sagging with age and overuse with the words 'Wool's Orphanage' plainly displayed above its entrance, faded from years of the dreary English weather.

A half amused, half crazed laugh fell from my lips, sounding closer to a sob as I gripped the bars tightly. Somehow I had made it this far in my journey already and I was almost happy enough to call that a victory in itself. Keeping my eyes on the orphanage as if it would disappear as soon as I dared to blink, I felt my way along the gate until I reached the center where I was able to pull it open. Letting myself into the front courtyard, I jumped as a crash of thunder echoed overhead, the sky darkening even further as I moved up the walkway. The building really did look run down, but I wagered it had been around for quite some time and decided to reserve judgment until I made it inside.

When I finally reached the front door, an ancient thing that's wood looked to be rotting, I noticed it was unusually tall and had no knocker or even a mail slot. All that was nearby was a rope, hanging from the dingy rafters with a small toggle dangling at the end. Figuring this was the bell, I reached out and pulled it, a small groan of effort escaping my lips as a solemn 'dong' rang out from inside the building. Even over the smattering of rainfall and now increased peals of thunder, I could hear a sudden stampede of little feet running here and there from inside. The bell of children's laughter floated up to me from under the crack in the door and a shiver went down my spine. Tom Riddle was somewhere in there. The thought was such a shock to my system that when a grey haired woman finally pulled open the heavy door, I simply stared at her, eyes wide and mouth agape, rain water falling into it from my sopping hair.

"Hello, dear," she greeted, her initial shock at seeing me there melting into a kind smile, "Can I help you?"

She was not an all too elderly woman, probably in her late fifties at the eldest. She wore a blue knee length skirt and button jacket, her grey eyes popping in the dim of the hall behind her. She looked very nice. Still, an awkward moment of silence passed between us and when her eyebrows began to stitch together in concern, I realized I had a roll I needed to be playing. Letting my mouth snap closed and eyes fall to the floor, I tried to stammer out a reply through my chattering teeth. It was not difficult to play a distraught teen who had just lost her parents. I had after all.

"Y-Yes," I began, words feeling strange crawling their way out of my throat. I cleared it. "S-Sorry, I just…I just-" With an all mighty sniff, I allowed my face to crumble in true felt agony, and within moments the woman had fetched me into her arms, guiding my head down to her shoulder as she was a few inches shorter than myself. "I have nowhere to go."

The sobbed confession must have been one she was used to hearing because she simply nodded, ushering me into the entrance hall of the orphanage before closing and locking the door behind us. Trying not to let myself be completely overcome with sadness, I still allowed a few earnest tears to leak out as I trembled and hiccupped, dripping water onto the dusty rug beneath my feet. The woman put her arm around me, comforting hums and shushes coming from the back of her throat as she walked me down the hall.

Head cast low so that my hair blocked my face, I risked glances up and around me, trying to spot my reason for coming here. Instead I was met with the dirty faces of young children that would appear and suddenly be gone. Hidden away behind banisters and stairways they watched as I was taken to a small but cozy sitting room. At this point I began to quell my crying a bit, knowing I would need to deliver my story in a somewhat coherent fashion.

The woman guided me into an armchair just before a fireplace. I sank into the seat, still keeping my face turned down and my shoulders hunched, if only to hide my odd form of dress as she whispered a harsh reprimand to two young faces that had peeked in around the corner. In that moment she was occupied I did a quick sweep of the room. No Tom Riddle here. I whimpered once more and redrew her attention.

"There, there, dear," she soothed, momentarily grasping my limp hand before reaching for a tea set on the end table to my left. "You're safe now."

"Thank you," I gushed, accepting the cup she poured and handed to me with a watery smile, "It's just been so hard since…" I trailed off, letting my face hint at another break down as the woman took the other armchair on the opposite side of the table.

"You're all alone then?" she questioned as gently as possible, head tilted like that of a good listener. I nodded, deciding against wiping the tears from my face since my hands were dirty. I sniffed again.

"Yes," I clarified, keeping my eyes low and haunted as she studied me, "My parents were arrested some time back while we were traveling." I hiccupped to sell it further, not wanting to seem too eager to reveal this heart wrenching story.

"My goodness," she breathed, nearly under her breath, "Whatever for?"

I thought quickly about how someone in this situation would answer. It was unlikely they'd be able to get through the story calmly, and the less detail I threw in, the less I'd have to remember. I moved as if to take a sip of the tea (which I desperately desired), but halted, bringing it back down to the saucer with trembling fingers. "We," I started, pausing for dramatic effect which earned me another squeeze on the hand. I gave her a hopelessly grateful smile. "We were…traveling through Germany-" Here I decided would be the moment I could go no further, instead choosing to lift the hand that was not balancing my tea to my eyes, grimacing in emotional distress as silent sobs again began to rack my body.

I could practically hear the woman's mind turning over the small bit of information she had as she stood again. She relieved me of the burden of holding the tea, hands flittering over me helplessly, as if looking for the wound she could plug up to stop my tears. Finally she simply gripped my shoulder in slender fingers, giving a calmingly gaze as I lifted my sore eyes to her.

"Do you have any sort of identification?" she asked carefully, the wrinkles in her face becoming more prominent as she let her concern show, "Any way for us to maybe contact your family?"

I blinked rapidly as if coming out of a daze, nodding as I began to dig around my robe pockets. When I looked up again, the woman was examining my clothes for the first time, looking confused and full of pity. I figured that she assumed the robe was some stolen or discarded men's coat that dwarfed my tiny figure as I passed her my papers, still bound in the aged leather Dumbledore had given me. As she flipped open the case, her eyes widened before growing painfully sad. She gave me a pitying look, the bright Star of David making my situation very clear indeed. She cooed a soft noise of sadness for me, reaching out and gripping my shoulder once more. I nodded, letting a few more tears slip out as she sighed and handed the wallet back.

"I'm so very sorry for your loss, dear," she assured me, nodding along with me as I thanked her, "But you are incredibly lucky to have escaped and made it all the way here. Have you any family left in England at all?"

"No," I answered, with a quick shake of my head, "My parents were only children and my grandparents have all died."

The woman tisked sympathetically, pulling a hand kerchief from her pocket to offer to me. I took it, mild surprise growing inside me since I had always figured kerchiefs were things only men of the time carried. But then I supposed she had to watch after several lonely children. The bit of cloth probably came in handy more often than not. I dabbed only at my cheeks, not wanting to get mucus or excess rainwater on the thing before handing it back. She shoved it into her pocket, smile appearing as the fabric disappeared.

"Well, Ms. Neuman," she said, picking up my new name from my papers, "You are very welcome to stay here until you are of age to care for yourself." I nodded, mumbling a small thanks under my breath as she helped me from my seat. With a smile, she lead me back out into the hall, this time, head up and shoulders back as she spoke. "We have quite a few children here orphaned by the war, poor dears. We've plenty of room for more at this time as we only have ten children in all staying with us at the moment, now including you."

I wrestled back the surprise from my face as she turned into a door just to the right of the main entrance. Following her in, I realized we had reached an office and she was quickly making her way behind the desk. I sat in the opposite chair as she motioned me to and watched as she began to riffle through a messy stack of papers. Looking around, I couldn't help but notice the array of framed, unmoving pictures that covered every flat surface. In them were dozens of different children of various ages, all clinging to this woman's legs or wrapping a loving arm around her shoulder as they smiled.

"My name is Mrs. Cole," she finally introduced, smiling up from the papers that she was clicking into place between her fingers, "I am the orphanage's matron." I nodded, having figured as much from the pictures which I was still gazing at. Face after face, frame after frame and still I could not find the one I was looking for. The one Ginny and Harry had described to me a dozen times over. The handsome one that held a devilish smirk beneath a silky wave of midnight black hair. Where was Tom Riddle?

"Your first name is Ericka is it not?" she questioned. Tearing my eyes from my search, my brow furrowed in confusion. She was looking back at me over glasses that she had adorned at some point while I was distracted, and she had a pen poised over some official looking form. My entrance form I supposed.

"Oh yes, sorry," I confirmed, recalling that my flimsy, paper card gave me a new first name as well. I knew I would never remember to answer to it though, and I could not stand the idea of living out the rest of my life not as Hermione. "But I prefer to go by my middle name."

"Which is?"

"Hermione." She blinked before nodding and adding a note to the side of my form. I knew my name was quite unusual, even for my time, and so did not press any further as she continued on through the slip.

"What year were you born?"

"1926."

"What day?" I tried to remember when the Dark Lord had been born so that I might stay within his year without ever having to actually celebrate my birthday in his presence.

"December third," I decided on finally, "It's just past."

"So you've just turned sixteen then?"

"Yes." Mrs. Cole's eyes suddenly sparked, a coy smile gracing her lips as she filled in the last of my information. She recapped her pen and removed her glasses, smiling over the desk at me as she stood.

"Well, Miss Neuman," she enthused, reaching into a bottom drawer of her desk and pulling out what looked to be an empty filing folder. "As of right now you are the oldest child we have with us. The only person near your age is young Mr. Riddle. He'll be sixteen December thirtieth."

My blood ran cold at the first bit of evidence Tom Riddle even lived here. There were no pictures of him in this office, his cold eyes had not looked through a crack at me as I passed through the hall. He would have just gotten back from Hogwarts earlier today, he should be milling around somewhere. My inner musings had distracted me from the fact that Mrs. Cole was talking, presumably chattering on about Riddle as she organized my papers into the file now neatly marked 'Neumen, Ericka'. I cringed at the name.

"Such a strange boy," she concluded, moving to a large filing cabinet in the corner, "Lonely I'd imagine with no one his age to talk to, but now that you're here maybe that will change." She looked at me, eyebrows up as if to gauge my reaction. I didn't feel comfortable playing in to that expectation and so just met her gaze with a blank look hoping she'd figure I was going into shock and hurry things along. She shrugged, the 'maybe not' not needing to be spoken as she took a key hanging around her neck and unlocked the top drawer of the cabinet. "May I have your identification?"

"Sorry?"

She turned to me, looking apologetic as I gave her suspicious glare. "Sorry, dear," she cooed, "But all information on our children must be kept in this cabinet in case of anything." Still I hesitated. "If you ever need it for any reason, it will be right here and I won't hesitate to give it to you, but for now it needs to be filed away with all the rest."

At the phrase 'all the rest' I suddenly found myself conceding. I handed over my papers without another bit of protest, eyes fixed on the drawer as she filed my information away, closed, and locked it. All the rest. That meant that Tom Riddle's papers were filed away somewhere in there, just waiting to be examined. I ripped my eyes away from the promising little cabinet as Mrs. Cole began to speak again, guiding me out of the chair and out of the room. Before the door closed behind us, I spared the drawer one last glance over my shoulder. I had to get in there.


End file.
